


Spoils of War

by Mithen



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Corruption, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glimpse of a dark AU in which Faramir claims the Ring--and a bride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spoils of War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarkastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarkastic/gifts).



The white walls of Minas Tirith shone in the dazzling sunlight, unbreached and whole, the armies of Sauron routed. Faramir looked out at his lands and knew that he--he alone--could keep them safe. He could protect Gondor, rally the people, be the King his father had only ever dreamed of being. The Ring on his hand throbbed once in agreement, sending a hot flush of power that was nearly sexual through his body. He could feel it lighting his eyes, surrounding him like an aura.

He wished Mithrandir could be with him now, to see what his pupil had finally achieved. Surely he had never imagined that his humble student could be the one to master the One Ring. Yet that very humility had made it possible. His brother's pride had destroyed him, but Faramir did not wield power for his own gain. He was the servant of Gondor, and he used the Ring only to help its people. Faramir felt exaltation bubble in him like laughter as he heard the people calling his name in the streets. This would be a new age of mankind, a golden age for Gondor and his people.

Of course, not everyone saw it that way...yet.

"Bring the prisoners before me," Faramir said. The guards hurried to obey him, basking in the reflected glory of his approval, bringing in a ragged line of chained prisoners wearing the livery of the Rohirrim. It was a pity, reflected Faramir: the Rohirrim were brave and noble souls. But they had refused to bow down before him, and examples must be made.

At the end of the line, Faramir saw a young woman. She was dressed in mail, her face grimed with soot and blood, and yet her beauty caused the breath to stop in his throat. She looked as keen and unyielding as a sword blade, and the Ring on his finger pulsed again as if in warning: _Kill her! Kill her now!_ But Faramir ignored it and approached her.

"I saw you on the battlefield," he said. "I saw you slay the Nazgul."

She was dirty, exhausted, and wrung with grief, but she raised her head to meet his eyes-- _meet his eyes_ , which no mortal had done since he claimed the Ring. "And I saw you," she said clearly. "I saw you betray your true Lord and your people."

Her eyes flicked to watch the hand flash upward to strike her, but she did not flinch from it. Faramir lowered his hand with an effort, his blood burning with fury--and with something more. The Ring pushed again, and this time Faramir granted its desire: "Take them away," he said. "Execute them before the people."

There was a cry, sharp as a kestrel striking, and he turned to find that the woman had broken her chain-- _how?_ \--and seized a sword from a guard. He barely got his dagger up in time to block the flurry of desperate blows that rained down on him. A sharp, almost electrical shock from the Ring reminded him that he was hardly defenseless, and he flung out his hand. _"Halt!_ " he cried--at the guards and their nocked arrows. "Fool," he said to the woman standing frozen in front of him, the shining blade still in her hand, "Did you truly think you could defeat the Wielder of the One True Ring?"

Sweat stood out on her white brow, and her eyes still gleamed defiance. But even as the breath hissed through her teeth, she turned her own blade on herself, until the point rested at the hollow in her collarbones, just above her coat of mail.

"I could compel you to kill yourself," Faramir said as a thread of fresh scarlet trickled from her white throat. It was exhilarating, somehow, to feel her struggle, to bend her body against her will. "I could compel you to do many things." He walked closer to her, smelling the sweat and soot on her body, hearing the breath catching in her throat. The sword clattered to the ground and then her arms were around him, his mouth on hers, hard and demanding, his knee between her legs. "And after all, I will need an heir," he said to her horrified face as he pulled away.

"I will never bow to you, tyrant," she whispered.

"I shall enjoy breaking you," he murmured back, desire a dark blaze of glory kindling in him. He touched her on the forehead. "There. You will find yourself quite unable to take your own life now." He turned to his guards. "Take her away and clothe her as a bride."

She screamed once as they took her away, a curse on his name.

As it turned out, she was the one to break him, in ways neither of them had ever imagined. But that story is for another chronicle and another time.


End file.
